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Giova
I hadn’t even been allowed to brush my hair, instead pulling into a messy ponytail as he ushered me into the elevator. Luckily, there was no one around to see me. The gym was all but deserted except for a few other soldati who were working out, but they gave us a wide berth.
I took the knife from my husband. The sticky sensation of Junior’s blood on my hands returned but I ignored it, balancing the blade in my hand.
“I already know how to kill with one of these,” I muttered.
Giova
“What?”
He stepped back, giving me some space. “Kill.”
I glanced between him, the knife and his men. My mother was cackling somewhere. “I...you want me to hurt you?”
“Kill me,” he prompted. “I know you’ve thought about it.”
“In my fantasies, I’m using a sharpened down paintbrush,” I admitted. “But I suppose this will do.”
I lunged but Giova
“Untrained and reckless,” he breathed into my ear. “I’m not surprised.”
I wriggled in his grip but ended up just rubbing myself against him. His erection felt as hard as steel against my ass.
“No teasing. I’m here to teach you.”
“Not to play with me?”
Giova
I smiled. “Aren’t I meant to be the Catholic prude and you the promiscuous bastard?”
“I can’t decide if you’re trying to distract me...” His breathe tickled my neck, goosebumps rising along my skin, “...or you want to become an exhibitionist.”
I went for the knife. He let me grab his wrist and tug at the handle, but he didn’t relent his grip. I groaned out in frustration when he held firm.
It was like attacking a statue. You were more likely to hurt yourself than your intended target. Nothing could shatter the marble that was my husband.
“You’ll be harder to train than the inductees,” he said. “You’re twice as bloodthirsty.”
“I am not.”
Giova
“With his permission.”
“Even with my permission, none of my men would ever insult me by trying to kill me.”
I spoke without thinking. “Until one of them wants your syndicate.”
His hand roamed down my wrist to my elbow, dragging over the sensitive skin. “Until then.”
So fast I couldn’t blink, Giova
I swallowed. “Is this part of the lesson? Or do you want my syndicate?”
“You have no syndicate.”
A raspy laugh escaped me, tinged with nervousness and desire. “Yet my death means the Lombardis overthrowing your mob.”
“They’re not strong enough.”
“But they would do some serious damage.”
He removed the knife before twisting me to the side, bending down and pressing his lips to where the blade had kissed my skin. I shivered at the contact, my insides tightening and growing hotter by the second.
Images of his lips trailing down my neck and going to my chest danced through my brain. My breasts grew heavy at the thought.
Giova
By the time, my husband was done with me I was hot and bothered–not only from the exercise. We went upstairs to shower before preparing breakfast. By we, I meant: Giova
I would not be surprised if they put me on booger duty and forced me to clean under the bleachers.
I put my coffee down, no longer hungry.
Marzia stumbled into the kitchen not long after, hair a mess and eyes half open. “Can I have a cupcake for breakfast?” She asked as she lifted herself up to the bench.
“No, you may not,” Giova
We had lots of leftover cupcakes from the bake sale, much to my chagrin, and they had been refrigerated. Giova
I was already sick of the baked deserts, but Marzia wasn’t.
Giova
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I’m not sure yet.”
The news came on, a fine-boned reporter taking up the screen, the background an image of the Capitol. “–after months of unpassable bills, it seems Congress has finally begun to discuss stricter RICO laws on the floor. The Press Secretary assures us that the administration remains determined to protect American citizens, however the President has yet to publicly endorse the bill–”
I eyed Giova
My attention began to waver until the woman said, “The bill is said to be supported by FBI Director Paula Bristol, as well as Assistant Director of the Organized Crime division, Leonardo Youngman.” A photo popped up onto the screen of Giova
No, I realized, not my Giova He stood behind Paula Bristol at the podium, almost blending in with the flag and shadows. He looked charming, beautiful, dressed in a blue suit that brought out the color in his familiar eyes. “Your twin is Assistant Director of the organized crime division,” I said aloud. Realizations clicked together in my mind like puzzle pieces. “That’s why you weren’t bothered when the Feds took the Ó Fiaich shipment and the reason you never have your photo taken.” I looked to my husband. He had already turned towards me, eyes gleaming. There had been a few times when I had doubted my mother’s plan to take back Manhattan. Giova It was in this moment I realized: there was no competition. There had never been any game to play, or race to run. The night Giova